


a time to thaw

by kuchyan



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 14:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13249965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchyan/pseuds/kuchyan
Summary: Leonard is back from being dead and struggles with the unfamiliarity of both the Waverider and himself.





	a time to thaw

**Author's Note:**

> My secretsanta gift for the coldatomsecretsanta 2k17 -- my recipient @airyalmost.  
> I hope this isn't too loose of an interpretation of the prompts. It's more pre-coldatom than solid-coldatom so I hope that's alright too. The prompts weren't specifically holiday themed so I avoided it.

Len has had approximately 14 hours to get used to the fact that he was back from the dead. Four of those he spent fighting the crazy time pirate who had (completely unintentionally, apparently) brought him back from a nonexistent state of being by trying to rebuild the Oculus. There had been an impromptu party, involving alcohol and introductions that had tapered off embarrassingly quick when people had started dozing off over their shots. Another six had been spent sleeping before he'd rolled out of his bunk feeling like he would go crazy in his own skin. It felt strange, being back, mostly because he couldn't remember more than a few moments passing from being-alive to being-alive-again. Yet he found himself hyper aware of the passage of time, of every new detail on the ship. It was like walking into a room after somebody had moved every item just a few inches to the left and trying to guess the change.

Mick handed him the cold gun as they shared a beer and , despite neither of them speaking, it was somehow terribly emotional. Len's mostly thankful neither of them tear up. He got an exuberant half-hug from Jax and a kind grip on the shoulder from the professor, both of which were surely the result of adrenaline because he couldn't recall being that well liked by either of them. A lingering kiss on his cheek from Sara left him half-flustered in ways he refused to show. It was gratifying in a selfish way to know he'd been missed, but it was all very _emotional_ and tiring and annoyed Len for the simple reason that it's so very obvious how much time has passed for everybody but him.

His resulting meandering sulk takes him to the bay, where he finds Ray fiddling with the helmet of his suit. 

"Hello, boy scout."

Ray looked up, positively beaming. "Snart! How are you feeling? Are you okay? What did Gideon say? How did -"

"Please," Len interrupted, rolling his eyes, "I got enough of that from Sara."

"Oh, well..." Ray scratched the back of his head. "Nothing like taking down a genocidal time-traveler to remind you of the good old days, huh?"

"More like a reminder that I've hitched myself to a semi-incompetent crew of misfits that don't fight evil so much as they violently collide with it."

"Well, yeah, but that's what makes it so fun!" Ray continued to tinker, but Len couldn't bring himself to move. Being annoyed by Raymond was as normal as normal got on this ship and it eased a bit of tension to know that some things hadn't changed. It was better than playing make-up with Mick who kept looking at him funny and Sara who didn't call him a hero but kept the word in her mouth like it was about to jump out. 

Len couldn't even say why, but he must have been standing in the doorway for ten minutes, looking. Thinking. Comparing, as he'd found himself doing every minute of his waking hours back on the ship. Trying to place a finger on what exactly was different about Ray Palmer. 

 "Raymond..."

Ray jumped, fumbling something delicate in his hands. He looked back up at Len, mouth open. 

Len still slouched in the doorway, watching. Not just watching. His gaze was heavy and pointed, assessing. He made a slow show of looking down and then back up, so obvious in his analysis that Ray flushed.

Ray visibly paused, as if certain what he was about to say was unwelcome but deciding to say it anyway. A very Raymond trait. "Snart, it's really good to have you back."

Ray, smiling, so open and honestly happy. Len pretended it didn't feel good and let his eyes linger then, on the new gauntness of Ray's already striking jawline, the startling emptiness under his eyes. He realized he'd stared too long when Ray stopped smiling and touched his face self-consciously.

"Er...something wrong?" Ray patted himself down.

"That's exactly what I'm wondering, Raymond," Len stood up in the door way and moved closer. "You look ---"

_Different_ , he was going to say. Implying _bad_. _Unhealthy_. _Tired_. _Sad_. All those things that Len knew he didn't have in himself to talk about, but _different_ was enough.

Ray's eyes were wide. Nervous, if Len had to guess. "Um- I'd actually rather not talk about...it."

"What a surprise." Like a shark with blood in the water, Len found himself drawn into the bay, stalking toward Raymond with a purpose. "Normally can't get you to shut up. Unless you've learned the art of being quiet while I've been gone?"

"Intruder onboard," Gideon said, as alarms blared through Waverider.

Len didn't actually get to pin Ray with anything because the moment was gone. Honestly, the distraction of yet another screw up leading to an evening of close death shenanigans was almost a relief. It got his blood pumping, which meant he was alive. He got to see Sara throw a man halfway across a room and Mick roast something that might have been an alien or a robot, which meant they were both fine and alive. But eventually all was calm on the Waverider again and Len, staring morosely at the ceiling from his bunk, couldn't shake the picture of Ray from his head. It was inexplicable, really, because he had a million other things to be thinking about. Like, does Lisa think he's dead? What's Mick been up to that's got him so edgy every time Len looks at him? What's the story with the two new idiots crowding up the ship? They are goody-goody from the top of their heads to their toes and Len had dealt with the Steel guy for approximately three minutes before worrying he was going to damage his eyes from rolling them so hard. But it's Raymond that Len keeps coming back to.

Len rolled out of his bunk with a purpose.

He nicked a shiny, full bottle from Rip's office and found Sara. 

"How's about we drink a few to resurrections," he called, shaking the bottle.

Sara smiled at him, putting down her staff. She even put her arm through his and leaned against him, "I guess we're back-from-the-dead buddies now, huh?"

"Just one more thing we have in common," Len said, easily, "Though I suspect my own second coming has been a bit easier than yours."

They toasted their first glass to that - to second comings and second chances, even when you weren't quite sure you deserved them. They drink a few more as Len hears every stupid thing the team's been up to and stupid is definitely the right word, or maybe unlucky. He might even say it was unbelievable, except that Sara crosses her heart each time she adds another outrageous detail.

"So, Captain Lance," Len finally says, leering just a little at Sara. She leered back over the glass of something dark and decadent. "What's the deal with Raymond?"

Sara regarded him in a way she never had before. Just as thoughtful as always, but there was something new. Something weighing in the back of her mind. The weight of leadership, if Len had to guess, and it suited her well. "You noticed, huh?"

"He sick or something?"

She hadn't once mentioned the kiss and Len found himself oddly glad. Kissing Sara had been a spur of the moment consolation gift to himself in the face of voluntary death, the culmination of all the flirting and eyes they'd been making at each other from the moment they had found a common ground on the ship. But it hadn't taken Len even a full conversation to realize that Captain Lance and the Sara that had kissed him so sweetly weren't the same people. She must have realized it too, but she still leaned up against him as they shared the bottle.

"Honestly, I don't know. He's...quiet, I guess. A lot happened," Sara shrugged, "to all of us, but Ray...I don't know. He's happy, he's smiling...then he turns around and plays so fast and loose with his own life it's like he's got a death wish."

"And you're okay with that?" Len said, a little colder than he meant to. 

Sara just looked at him, "You sweet on Ray, Snart? I had no idea."

Len tossed back the rest of his drink, feeling it burn from the back of his teeth all the way to his stomach, "Of course I am. You think I'd put up with someone that annoying otherwise?"

Raymond wasn't exactly Len's type, but he was easy to look at. Passionate, too. Unyielding, which had always been Len's weak spot. A little too nice and much too soft, but nobody was perfect.

Smiling into her glass, Sara hummed thoughtfully, "Does this mean you're done pretending to be a coldhearted bastard?"

Hard to play coldhearted when you showed your whole hand by sacrificing yourself to save the lives of people you supposedly didn't care you. "I may have _defrosted_ a bit," Len stressed, pointing a finger at her, "but don't think for one second that I'm not cold."

They drank in silence for a bit, companionable and easy. It helped Len fight that tight feeling in his skin, the unease that prickled at him. He could feel Sara's eyes on him, waiting.

Len looked down into the drink because it was easier than looking at Sara. "Everything is different," he said, feeling Sara's eyes on him. "You. Mick. Everybody. Not to mention those two bozos I've never seen before."

"You call Amaya a bozo to her face and she'll break you." Sara warned him. Her hand was warm on his shoulder , digging deep into his parka to grasp at him. "And I know what you mean, but honestly...just stick around and I think you'll see that at the end of the day, the team's still the team."

The team was still the team. More comforting than Len had realized and yet, not as true as Sara had made it sound.  The worst part was, as far as Len could tell things _were_ more or less the same.

 Rip was gone. Frankly, Len couldn't care less about the absence (although he at least had the shred of decency to not say so in front of Sara) and he cared even less about the explanation of events the Professor tried to give him, which apparently involved time travel and brainwashing and not _one_ , not _two_ , but _three_ time-traveling super villains. Jiwe and the metal moron annoyed him on principal, if only because it was annoying to go back to the good old days of being resolutely judged for being a criminal by people he'd never met. They really did not approve of his joking suggestions of heists during planning, which seemed unfair. Surely Mick hadn't turned into some straight-laced do-gooder just because Len had disappeared for a bit.

"I ain't a hero any more than you," Mick told him, looking pissed at the suggestion, "and I've had enough of getting criticized by you."

Affronted, Len scoffed, "What exactly does that mean?"

Mick seemed to realize he'd said something he didn't mean to say, because he stuffed an enormous amount of cheeseburger into his mouth and didn't look at Len. 

"Mick..." Len said, threateningly.

"Shit." Mick said, once the food in his mouth was more manageable. "I don't want to talk about it."

Mick wasn't the only one. Mick avoided him unless it was clear Len was willing to drop the subject, just like Sara didn't want to talk about Rip even though it was clearly on her mind, just like nobody wanted to talk about getting thrown across time (which was a thing, apparently, and Len could at least be glad he hadn't had to endure some shit like being stuck in the 1500's. He simply couldn't abide by people who didn't bathe enough). Even Raymond, who had always perked up like a puppy when shown the least bit of attention, had taken to edging away from Len with somewhat accusatory eyes, despite Len never having said what he meant to say.

It left Len with really no choice but to give the new guys the proper hazing they had obviously missed out on. New guy, actually, because Len took Sara's advice to heart.

"What the hell!" Heywood was yelling, holding a manuscript turned ice-slab, "This is - do you have any idea - you - what the hell is your problem!"

"Oops." Len said. He smiled a little as he walked away, bumping into Sara. She looked over his shoulder, where Heywood was desperately trying to deal with the melting pile of papers and ice. 

"Picking fights?" she asked, frowning.

"Just having a little fun." Heywood's eyes were just a bit too ugly when they looked at him. If there was a story there, nobody had told Len - so he sure as hell wasn't going to put up with it.

"I take it you were the one who swapped all his clothes with tracksuits from the 1980's." Now that had been funny and everybody had laughed when Heywood had come marching out in the middle of breakfast, so Len hardly thought it was fair to get chided over. He said as much in his defense.

"Maybe so, but this is a bit much. What's your problem with Nate, anyway?"

"Honestly?" Len pretended to think about it, "He's the one that doesn't like me, Sara, and don't act like it's not true. Other than that, nothing at all. He's no more annoying than anybody else on this ship, which I admit is hardly saying anything in his favor. But what else am I suppose to occupy myself with, since all my bosom buddies are keeping me at arm's length?"

"I'm not -" Sara started, and sighed, "It's really not like that, Leonard. It's just been - a long, hard while. We weren't exactly picnicking while you were dead, you know?"

"You said the team was still the team," Len accused her. "Well, it doesn't feel very much like I'm part of that team anymore."

"And whose fault is that?" Sara said. "You haven't exactly been playing nice. Look, I know - it's not the same as it was before. But it's been, what, a year? A long year -" Sara hazarded, waving her hand to imitate the vagueness of trying to keep track of time when you were literally _in time_ , "- of course things aren't exactly the same. But if you keep acting like every little difference is a personal insult to you, you're just gonna keep pissing everyone off. Hell, even Ray's avoiding you and the only people he ever stays mad at are super villains."

"I've barely even spoken to the boy scout," Len defended himself reflexively. Actually, he'd barely even seen Ray since his first day back on the ship.

"Sure," Sara said," that's why he practically runs out of the room anytime he sees you coming? Give the asshole act a break, Snart. From one dead person to another, let me give you some advice. Everybody's happy to have you back, so all you really need to do is be happy for yourself. You were dead and now you're not. Congratulations."

Len didn't sulk about it, no matter what Mick had to say about the matter. He brooded, which was a perfectly acceptable response and, really, someone had to pick up the slack in that department now that Rip was gone. It just wasn't _fair_. Len couldn't even be certain dead was the right word for what he had been. He had existed. He had stopped existing. He existed again. There hadn't been any particular pain or suffering, aside from that very last moment of thinking about how he'd never see Lisa again, or Mick, or rob another bank. It didn't really compare to the horror story of resurrection that Sara carried around, which in a way made him feel a bit shittier. Like he was throwing a tantrum over something he didn't have a right to. It was these frankly pointless circles in his head that had him up all night, stalking the ship like some pathetic ghost. 

Len rapped on Ray's door, mostly because the boy scout was exceptionally funny to talk circles around when he was only half awake. There was no answer, and Len swiped on the door switch to reveal the empty room. He looked at the rumpled blankets on the bed suspiciously.

"Gideon, where's Raymond?"

"Dr. Palmer is in the medbay," Gideon answered helpfully, "He has requested to not be disturbed."

_As if_. Len thought, making his way down the corridor. 

They had spent the day hunting down a jewel thief in 1671, which had given Len the chance to spend a few hours with some of the Crown Jewels of England on his person. They were, by both his and Mick's estimation, not nearly as cool as one would have thought, though Mick had particularly liked one of the crowns. All in all, a day of playing heroics that had gone remarkably smoothly where the Legends were concerned. The only one who'd needed a trip to the medbay had been Dr. Stein, who'd sliced his palm on a rusty old piece of metal, leaving him with a wound that probably would have been a guaranteed death in the 17th century. Raymond hadn't gotten so much as a scratch on his shiny suit, spending most of the mission miniaturized and playing spy.

The door to medbay slid open silently, without Len even asking. He stopped in the doorway, eyes on Raymond.

"Several deficiencies detected," Gideon was saying, cool and clinical, "You are very unwell, Doctor Palmer."

"Just give me the usual," Ray said.," I felt much better last time."

"Doctor Palmer," Gideon began.

"Gideon. Please?"

Ray was laying on the medical cot, arms folded carefully across his chest, eyes closed. He didn't even twitch when the machines around him whirled to life.

"As you wish, Doctor Palmer. I'm administering electrolytes and vitamin supplementals now. Although I must insist that a proper dietary regime is necessary to ensure your health."

Puzzles, Len was good with. People too, and it often amounted to the same thing. Just a matter of figuring it out. This was like the missing piece that fit perfectly into the spot Len had been eyeing since being back on the ship. Raymond, a little less than he'd been before - less bulk, less excitement, less energy. Less happy. Len stepped back out into the hall before Ray spotted him. He lurked, instead, waiting in the dark of the corridor, thinking, until the medbay opened again.

"That explains it," Len said, for the satisfaction of watching Ray jump.

Ray clutched his chest, stumbling back, "Woah! Geez, Snart, you could warn a guy...

"This whole time I kept looking at you, thinking 'something's wrong here'. Something is definitely  _wrong_ with Raymond. I couldn't figure it out," he pointed at the closed medbay doors, "But that explains it."

Ray seemed to look at every single surface of the hallway that wasn't Len. "I , uh...had a bad bruise. You know, from the whole getting swatted like a fly thing earlier...."

"Gideon fixes you right up, doesn't she? But she can't fix everything."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your face. Your eyes. " Len was staring at him, mercilessly. "Just the way you _look_ now. Raymond..."

Ray had never, at any point in his life, been good at lying. He looked at the fur on Len's jacket very intently and said again, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Len had that particular way of looking at people that just laid it all bare. He'd practiced it his whole life.  Even with Ray obstinately looking away, Len knew the other man must have felt his cool gaze digging in.

"I know I've called you stupid plenty of times, but playing dumb doesn't actually suit you, Raymond. Neither does trying to lie, poorly."

Closing his eyes, Ray leaned back against the medbay doors. "Snart, I really....really...really don't want to talk about it."

"With me? Sure. But you should talk to someone. Professor Stein, or...Sara."

Ray couldn't help a little laugh from escaping, an incredulous look on his face. "Are you giving me advice? To...to talk about my feelings, or something?"

Len got a bit closer. "Usually the problem with you is that you won't stop talking about your feelings."

"Well, things change. People change." Ray straightened, clearing his throat. He looked at Len, pointedly and with a veneer of bravado, "I changed."

He moved to leave, but Len was too close, crowding Ray against the wall. "Look, I'm not saying I care or anything, but I happen to be an expert on screwed up people. And this? Is screwed up."

Ray was scowling now, "You think I don't know that?"

"So pick someone other than Gideon to talk to. If you're - punishing yourself, or something -"

Len stumbled back in a shove, more surprised than hurt. Trembling a little, Ray withdrew, "You haven't even been here because you've been _dead_ and you think you can just show up and act like you have any idea what's going on!" 

Len rubbed his shoulder, glaring at Ray. His voice was icy, "Fine then. If you want to keep spending your nights playing pathetic, do it."

He made it half way down the hall before he heard what could only be the single worst sound possible. So quiet it was almost lost in the persistent hum of the ship.

Len turned back, face cautiously blank, "Are you crying?"

"...No." Ray said, voice thick. He had turned away, but huddled in on himself. As small as someone his size could be.

"Don't, ah..." Len crept back over. He felt, abruptly, like the biggest asshole in the universe, which was usually a feeling he only got when he said something cutting to Lisa that actually landed. "Ah, shit. Don't cry."

"I'm not!" Ray coughed, scrubbing at his face, "Leave me alone."

"I shouldn't have said that." Len acknowledged. Not like that.  "Look, I didn't mean it. You're not...pathetic."

"I am," Ray whispered. 

It made something hot and uncomfortable flare in Len's chest. "No, you're not. A lot of people...a lot of people...struggle." This was really not Len's cup of tea and his usual easy wordiness didn't seem to exist when it came to comforting someone. "I don't know what happened while I was gone, but my impression is that nobody on the ship had it easy. So I don't think you're pathetic for...."

Len didn't even have the word for it. He only knew the edges of the problem, not the complexity of it. He could see the hurt, but not the cause.

Ray's eyes were a painful red when he looked back at Len. "I don't even know why. It made me feel better, at first..."

"I was wondering why I hadn't seen you stuffing your face with cupcakes or bran muffins or whatever. I just thought maybe the crew had an intervention while I was gone." Len said, a little joking to break the ice.

Ray smiled , so bare of any good feeling that it was totally empty. "'Cause I like to eat," he said, nodding," always have...that's why...I just thought, I don't know. I was upset after...this thing that happened, with Thawne, and I went to eat something and it looked so good and I just thought -'I don't deserve this'. And then...one day became another..." 

Len stared him down. "You won't talk to Sara or Professor Stein?"

Ray visibly cringed," Please don't tell anyone. It's not that bad. I promise, I'll...um, I'll work on it."

"Are you eating at all?" Despite Ray's obvious discomfort, Len pushed.

Ray fiddled with his sweatshirt. "Protein shakes, mostly, once in a while...to keep my head clear." He leaned against the wall as if exhausted, staring at Len with wide, pleading eyes. "You won't tell anyone? Please. I don't want them to know that I'm -like this."

_What a fucking mess_ , Len thought, but he didn't have it in him to disagree. There was some little weak part of him that had always been soft to big pleading eyes. Which was definitely Lisa's fucking fault. "I'll think about it. You should go to bed, you look like hell."

It didn't help that when Ray grabbed him by the shoulder and earnestly thanked him, Len's heart gave a little stutter.

Len was more than half-tempted to ignore the whole issue. So he'd stumbled onto the fact that Raymond was basically, _what?_ , starving himself ? That didn't make it his problem to deal with. And just because he had made the outrageous decision to voluntary give his life for Mick didn't mean he was going to play hero for every member on the ship. But he supposed that, if pressed, he had to admit that he didn't hate Raymond quite as much as he sometimes acted. That in fact, as Sara suspected, he found something a little endearing about the man, like a yappy dog that never knew when to shut up but was still cute. 

So Len didn't say anything about it to anyone, but he turned it over and over in his head, not even able to say exactly why it was bothering him so much. He still thought that Stein would have been a better help, or even Jax, or probably one of those new guys. Good people, who knew how to say nice, helpful things.

He was crossing the ship to find Sara for a game of cards when he came across Ray and Heywood in the captain's office, both leaning over a game of checkers.

"Ray, I gotta ask," Nate was saying, "and I want you to be 100% honest with me."

Len stayed quiet, just a little to the side. Maybe Heywood wasn't as dumb as he looked. Personally, he'd thought Raymond had seemed off from the moment he'd stepped back on the ship, so it was a little off-putting that none of the other crew seemed to have noticed. He watched Ray meet Nate's eyes with a nervous smile. "Sure, buddy."

Nate stared him down, eyes narrowed. "Has Snart always been this much of an asshole?"

The surprise brought a snort out of Ray and he laughed, partly relieved and partly amused. "He's not that bad."

"Are you kidding? The guy has eyes like freaking daggers, man. He's never said one even remotely pleasant thing to me. I know he gave his life to save the universe and all but, c'mon..."

"He's not that bad." Ray said. Defensively. Which was nice, but truthfully, Len had been that bad -to Heywood. It was just too funny watching the nerd get all worked up. "I think he just...needs to adjust. Give him time, he'll grow on you."

_How sweet, Raymond_ , Len thought. 

Nate looked unconvinced, but shrugged, "If you say so."

"Talking about me?" 

Ray and Nate both jumped slightly higher than was appropriate for superheroes. Len rolled his eyes, not impressed.

"I know I'm quite fascinating, _pretty_ ," Len said, in a way that definitely made _pretty_ sound like an insult, "but if you really want to get to know me, you should just ask me yourself."

Nate rolled his shoulders, which was pure posturing. "It's nothing personal, Snart, but the only time I met you before, you were an evil dick. And now you're still pretty much a dick, which has me worried."

Len made a show of considering it. He was, in a fortunate turn of events, holding his cold gun in his hand, and tapped it thoughtfully as if weighing Nate's words. "Yes, I think I've heard something about that. All I can say is that it doesn't speak volumes about your ability that you were so easy to beat. Do you want an apology for something a completely different version of myself did, or an apology because I hurt your _wittle_ feelings?"

Nate knocked over his beer getting up, which made Ray jump up as well.  
  
"Wait, wait," Ray put himself in front of Nate, hands up," come on, are you guys really gonna fight? We're on the same team!"

"That's my point exactly!" Nate shouted, pointing accusingly at Len," We're on the same team, and this ass is constantly acting like he wants to shoot me. What's your problem?"

"He's just adjusting to being back on the ship!" Ray said, pushing Nate pack. Might as well do it now, before Nate became a block of steel and therefore in a completely different weight class. 

Len scoffed, "I don't need you to defend me, Raymond. If pretty boy over here has a problem, we can certainly talk it out."

"I just think this is stupid," Ray stressed," We are on this team together! I'm not saying you guys have to be friends, but you have to at least trust each other. Nate - Snart's a good guy. You can trust him, I promise."

Nate was shaking his head, but shrugged. Running a hand through his hair, he looked a bit sheepish, quelled by Ray's earnest tone. He even picked up the spilled beer, looking between Ray and Len. He finally pointed at Len, making his way out of the room. "I trust Ray," he finally said, "So don't let him down by being the dick I think you are."

Len watched him go. "I really don't need you defending my honor, Raymond."

Ray's head hung, like he was just tired. "You could be nicer, you know. He keeps talking about how you've been acting like a real..like a ...."

"Like?" Len took Nate's seat, blinking slowly with a fake, wide eyed curiosity.

"Like a real ass!"

Len smirked. "Raymond, I'm wounded. That might be the meanest thing you've ever said to me."

Ray glared at him. The shadows under his eyes were dark, but it was his eyes themselves that struck Len. They were missing something- that glint, that genuine happiness. The gleaming drive. Raymond Palmer had been, from the moment Len met him, an obnoxiously happy and good and eager person. Now he just struck Len as tired. "I guess I don't get it. Why do you keep picking fights with him?"

"I just don't feel like playing Mr. Nice-Guy anymore.  Being dead is exhausting like that. It really changes a guy." The checkerboard was shoved abruptly to the side, and Len folded his legs on top of the low table.

"That's my point. You've been pretty nice lately. To me." Ray said. He picked up a fallen checker, turning it over in his hands. 

Len snorted at that. "Would you rather I be an asshole? We've had maybe two conversations, Raymond."

Ray looked at him stubbornly. "You've been really nice to me.  Trying to help me, even if I didn't want it. I just want to help you, too."

That got Len's attention, his curling up in distaste. "What could I possibly need your help with?"

"You just seem upset, since you came back." Ray said, shrugging," What I'm trying to say it, I appreciate it. I...I don't know what I'm doing, I guess. I can't explain it. You're trying to help me. I always knew you were a good guy. You saved everybody back then. You were a hero."

Something inside Len wanted to recoil at the blatant praise. Something further down inside him wanted it to be true, but he knew it wasn't. He hadn't done a single damn thing to help Ray except keep his mouth shut, which wasn't really helping at all.

"Raymond, I'm not a hero. I'm definitely not your hero. I was just saving Mick, my partner. Don't go thinking I've gone soft because of that."

It annoyed Len more than a little that Ray didn't seem to believe him, instead dropping his gaze back to the checkers. "Right. okay."

"Besides, I haven't actually done anything for you. Except make you cry." Ray blushed at that, rubbing his nose. "And I meant what I said. You should really talk to someone else."

"I think it's easier because you've been gone," Ray confessed, "so you don't know how much I've screwed up since then. But they do. And hits will just be one more thing I've done wrong."

_If Lisa could see me now_ , Len thought. Maybe he really had gone soft, just like Mick. Maybe he had defrosted past the point of being cold at all, if he was willing to put his feet up and play counselor just because he was vaguely willing to acknowledge that he maybe cared. A little.  "You know that's not how they'll see it. _Everybody_ likes you, Raymond."

"Sure, cause I'm a likable guy." Ray agreed, almost blankly. "But they don't have time to play, I don't know, therapist to me...there's more important things going on. It would just be one more thing for them to worry about."

"How cynical of you."

Shrugging, Ray finally looked at Len."It's not cynical. It's just true. Bad things happen and we keep going because that's just what we do."

"You're remarkably pragmatic for somebody all caught up in hating themselves."

"What? I don't hate myself."

"Nobody who tries to throw their own life away on a daily basis _doesn't_ hate themselves. Nobody who --" _starves themselves_ , Len was going to say, but in that very instant saw a look of such abject panic cross Ray's face that it dried up in his mouth. 

"I don't want to die." Ray said.

"Sure," Len said, spreading his hands in compliance," Okay, maybe I'm off the mark. After all, I haven't been around much. I'm sure all the stories I've heard about you practically playing suicide soldier are extremely exaggerated. I'm just worried, Raymond, that you'll lose your perfect physique if you keep this up. It's arguably your best quality."

Ray laughed and then petered off, confused. "Are you...flirting with me?"

"If I say yes, will you stop looking like a kicked puppy?"

Ray still looked confused, but smiled. Bashful and a bit shy. It was, honestly, a stupidly good look on him and Len looked away.

"Anyway," Len cleared his throat. "I'm hungry now, so why don't we go to the kitchen and --" he took in Ray's falling face. "--and we'll split something. A sandwich and a cookie, that's what I feel like."

Len watched Ray squirm. "I ate today," he said quickly. "I had a shake earlier."

He stood up and watched Ray fidget. Debating in his head. Yes or no. To follow Len or not. To wager if he deserved to eat half a damn sandwich. "At least try," Len said. 

Len had known he was in trouble the moment he spent a single night tossing and turning and thinking about Raymond Palmer. He realized he was in over his head when he watched Ray, eyes closed, face somber, eating half a sparse ham sandwich on disgusting gluten free bread with disgusting sprouts like it was pure ambrosia and then forcing himself to eat the rest, bite by disgusting bite. The sight had simultaneously warmed him and struck him cold. Like watching Lisa at 15 spending hours in front of a mirror because she didn't think she was pretty enough, and not being able to just convince her that she was gorgeous. That night he relived it in his dreams - Ray, refusing to take even a bite of the cookie, but watching Len with wide, hungry eyes as he chewed it. 

He still doesn't tell anyone and he's never been naive enough that he thinks a sandwich is a solution to anything, much less whatever dark thing is eating away at Raymond. Len's not a psychologist. He's not even a remotely nice person. He spends his nights berating himself, questioning whether he's helping Raymond because he actually thinks he's helping, or because he just selfishly wants Raymond to keep looking at him the way he does. 

Because the way Raymond looks at him, when Len won't leave him alone until they share a meal, is not a way anybody has ever looked at Len before. Certainly not a way he actually deserves, but then again - he is a thief and a criminal and taking things he hasn't actually earned is kind of his thing.

Len is three beers into a round of truly sorry self-deprecation that even Mick had grown tired of, sitting on the floor in the bay and taking the cold gun apart. It's not at all a state he'd want to be seen in, so of course Ray comes looking for him.

If Len were a nicer guy, he'd ask why Ray's eyes and nose are red, but he's not. He opens another beer and doesn't say anything.

Ray folded himself on the floor, scooting up next to him, all warm against his side. It's the kind of warmth that Len should probably be avoiding, if he ever wants to be cold again.

"I...talked to Sara," a little shy, he picked at some lint on his pants.

Len doesn't ask _about what_ because he's not that dumb or drunk. "Good," he settles on, "so you can stop bothering me."

"I keep thinking, "Ray says, ignoring him," the old Leonard wouldn't have done any of this for me."

It's definitely the beers that have Len talking though. It's not just the stupid feelings he's been getting - those he can stamp out, he's sure, if he really put his mind to it. He could ice it all out, like he's been doing for year and years and years until winding up on a ship in time. "Don't be so sure about that. Maybe you didn't know old Leonard as well as you thought you did."

"Not as well as I wanted to," Ray smiled, looking at Len with wide, earnest eyes.

Len pointed at him, "Who's flirting now?"

"Me." Ray admitted, smiling. His nose was red and runny, but his eyes, for once, were a bit bright. Like they used to be. "But just a little."

About two weeks ago, Len did something dramatically stupid and died for it. Sometime in those two weeks a year or so had happened, and he'll never get that time back. Probably the single most annoying thing that his unwelcomed bouts of introspection have revealed is not that everybody has changed (they have) but that he has too.

It's exactly the sort of mushy shit that Lisa would never let him live down. He's never, ever going to tell her about it , obviously. He's certainly going to take this feeling with him to his grave, getting all giddy over a boy scout that flirts with snot on his face.

Len takes Ray's wrist in his hand because he's still bold. It's not the wrist he'd would have felt if he'd done this, before.  If his pressed his thumb a little harder he'd feel the thump of a pulse. Somehow, it feels more intimate than if he'd gone in for a kiss.

"I had a pretty good day, today," Ray tells him. He doesn't take his wrist back. His other hand is warm on Len's knee. "Haven't really been having a lot of good days, lately."

"Well then, we should celebrate," Len told him, "eat some cake."

Watching Ray's eyes, looking for dark things that Len couldn't name. Things that made him wish there was some sort of hero who could fight them, for it to be that easy.

"'Course, the kitchen puts out slices way too big. So we'd have to share. Might even have to call the Captain in to help."

"Right," after a moment, Ray nodded. Not quite smiling, but he turned his wrist. His fingers folded over Len's. "But if we're gonna eat cake, we should invite Mick. You know how he gets."

_That damned machine must have done something_ , Len thought, because handholding was not his thing. Brought him back wrong. Maybe he'd been drifting off in the universe and it just couldn't put all the pieces back right.

"You know, I used to be a real coldhearted bastard," Len told Ray, slyly.  A little secret, just around the mouth of his beer bottle.

Ray's eyes crinkled when he laughed, "Yeah, whatever happened to that guy?"

"I have it on good authority that people change." Len said. That could be good or bad. Better or worse.  There was probably a balance to strive for - how to come out different without losing everything that made you. But those were big thoughts for sober people, for times when there wasn't a warm hand to hold and cake to eat. 


End file.
